


water on mars

by heeho



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Catboy Goro, M/M, P5R Spoilers, Sexual Content, stupid!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:41:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25474798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeho/pseuds/heeho
Summary: Akechi stared at him. “Your master plan is to get me high on catnip.”“You need to relax,” Akira said. He reached out and carded his fingers through Akechi's hair.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 11
Kudos: 200





	water on mars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rime/gifts).



“So let me get this straight,” Akechi said. His arms bracketed Akira’s chest as he leaned into him, driving Akira down into his pillow. “You went to Igor. Spoke to him at length about various matters that are of no relevance to my _affliction_. Then waltzed out of the Velvet Room _without_ a cure? After you told me you were going to Shibuya to _fix this?!_ ”

“Oh, right,” murmured Akira. Akechi’s pupils were slits. They might have always looked like that; Akira wasn’t sure. When Akechi got this close to him his mind was usually on other things. “Well, I did ask Igor about it first. But he said he’s never come across your status ailment before. Suggested I talked to one of my cat-adjacent Personas instead. So I summoned Neko Shogun, but it didn’t have much wisdom to impart.” He paused. “Gave me this, though.”

Akira fished around in his pocket and procured a small bag containing an ashy-green herb. It could have been weed. It probably wasn’t.

Akechi stared at him. “Your master plan is to get me high on catnip.”

“You need to relax,” Akira said. He reached out and carded his fingers through Akechi’s hair.

It was a bold move—a checkmate that Akira reckoned would get his fingers bitten off. Sometimes playing with Akechi’s hair during a quasi-argument brought fruitful results. Sometimes Akechi would lower his voice reluctantly mid-sentence, stop fussing over whatever it was he pretended to be angry about, and back down. Most times he’d slap Akira’s hand away with the kind of ferocity that suggested he was not _done_ arguing about current political affairs and was offended that Akira would insinuate otherwise.

Not this time. Akechi grabbled at Akira’s hand very suddenly, startling the both of them. He bumped his head into it, insistent. Then he adjusted his hold on Akira’s hand and pushed it towards one of his cat ears.

“Wow,” said Akira.

“Don’t wow me,” growled Akechi. He rubbed up against Akira’s fingernails. Still with the perturbed expression. Still with the bared teeth. “I think—I think I’ve just discovered something. Try scratching my ears.”

Erring on the side of caution, Akira scratched behind the soft spot where Akechi’s ear met scalp. Akechi’s body did something very odd in response: it jittered, went very still, and melted into Akira’s lap. Akira watched in astonishment as Akechi started kneading—kneading!—into his abysmally cheap jeans, and perhaps Akechi's nails had been affected by the curse as well, because Akira swore he could hear the fabric rip and tear as Akechi pushed into it.

Now sufficiently comfortable, Akechi splayed his upper body across Akira’s legs and leered up at him through narrowed eyes. Akira’s fingers spidered down from his ear to his cheek, his jawline, his chin. Akechi tilted his face up obligingly. Akira’s nail dragged gentle down his throat. When he pressed the pad of his thumb to his skin, he could feel the reverberation of a noise bubbling up deep inside Akechi’s chest. A purr.

“This is incredible,” Akira said. His left hand moved to join his right, fingers dancing over the nape of Akechi’s neck. Akechi canted his head back into the touch. “We don’t even need the weed.”

“The what?” Akechi replied, irritated. “Anyway, you mean incredibly _dangerous_. If I’m like this with you, can you imagine how useless I’ll be in the Metaverse?”

“Yeah, but you love me. I can’t imagine you’d treat Shadows with the same kindness.”

“I tolerate you. I’m angry at you right now, as a matter of fact. I’m not acting out of free will.” Akechi nuzzled into the palm of Akira’s hand.

“Funny. That’s a very cat-like thing to say.”

“I’m not a cat.”

“Also a very cat-like thing to say, courtesy of Morgana.”

“I’m not Morgana.”

“That’s good. I’d never do this with Morgana.”

“I hope,” said Akechi, shoving his nose into Akira’s abdomen, “that the next time you get hit with a status ailment in Mementos, you turn into a cockroach. I hope,” he continued, and his face was getting progressively more flushed as he made burring sounds into the fabric of Akira’s shirt, “you get turned into a _real_ cockroach, not a cockroach _boy_ or some other human-animal amalgamation, so I get to step on you and feel the life seep out of your little cockroach body as I grind my heel down on your corpse.”

“Wait, are you horny?” Akira asked, feigning innocence. “Is this scritchy thing I’m doing getting you hot and bothered?”

“No,” Akechi breathed, in a hot and bothered sort of manner.

Akira quirked up an eyebrow. His hand sloped down to the base of Akechi’s spine, near where his tail poked out over his waistband. It was a brown tail, long-haired, twitching vigorously as Akira’s hand inched ever closer—and it frizzed out all at once when Akira hitched up the bottom of his shirt and massaged his lower back.

“Akira,” Akechi huffed, and climbed him.

They’d done this many times before, too. Akira and Akechi had not so much settled into a relationship as they had unceremoniously smashed together one evening after their first visit to Maruki’s Palace. They fought his Shadows much like they fought against other things: public scrutiny, their own perceived injustices, their respective acts of betrayal from either side. Then came the possibility that usurping Maruki’s utopia would bring about Akechi’s second death, and Akechi cruelly left Akira to fight that one alone.

Akira allowed him this. In return, he deemed it more than fair that they spent the majority of their time in Mementos. ‘Training’, as it were. A thinly-veiled sham in order to maximize what inconsistent company Akechi provided him with.

Mementos, coincidentally, was also what had gotten them into this mess. A Nekomata had wandered into their path. Crow had gloated gleefully (“Really, a low-level _this_ far down?”) and attacked it. It exploded into red sludge upon impact, covering him head-to-toe. When Joker had darted forward to help Crow wipe off, they found its cat-like characteristics had transferred over to _him_ : a new set of ears flattened uncomfortably against the roof of his helmet, with a tail to match.

“Help me get this off,” he’d said gruffly, tugging at the helmet so Joker could inspect the ears more closely.

“Help me get this off,” Akechi in the present whined, fumbling impatiently with his belt buckle.

“Sure, I’ll help get you off,” Akira mumbled, lost in thought. He shoved a hand down Akechi’s trousers.

It was interesting, what the status ailment did to change Akechi’s behaviour. It was not like his personality had inverted on itself. Akechi was still the same grouch who managed to somehow wield an inferiority _and_ superiority complex alike—he used both intermittently to wreak havoc on Akira’s psyche. But the cat spell brought out a kind of vulnerability on him that Akira had only caught glimpses of before. His body turned more pliant under Akira’s touch, curling and twisting as Akira fisted Akechi’s cock in his right hand, shucked his trousers down with his left. More vocal. He flip-flopped between purring and panting as Akira’s hand moved steady up and down his erection.

Akechi had already been hard for Akira when Akira first touched him. This rarely ever happened, if only because Akechi would dodge Akira’s advances for about an hour after leading him on. Now it was like he couldn’t get enough of him.

“ _Faster_ ,” he instructed Akira, keening low into the crook of his neck. He sat upright in Akira’s lap, his legs wrapped tightly around Akira’s waist.

“Alright, I’m trying,” said Akira. “We’re not even using lube. Aren’t you going to get friction burn?”

Akechi raked claw marks up Akira’s back.

Akira cried out. He was glad Sojiro wasn’t here to scold him for it. Morgana’s whereabouts were a bigger mystery to him, but he was not about to interrupt Akechi to ask where his cat had wandered off to.

 _Human_ , he corrected himself silently. Human boy who slept on his couch.

“Where is your mind at today?” Akechi honest-to-god pouted, no doubt a side-effect inflicted on him by the Nekomata curse. His fingers blindly fumbled with Akira’s own jeans zipper. Akira’s cock twitched at the offer; embarrassingly, he was already half-erect thanks to Akechi’s uncharacteristic enthusiasm. “Your hand keeps stalling. I’d rather have no effort than a half-baked one.”

“I… really liked it when you scratched me.” Akira’s tongue felt heavy. Dirty talk failed him. “It’s getting hard to concentrate.”

“You’re an idiot. Let me take over.”

Akechi wriggled off Akira’s lap, lying flat with his belly against Akira’s bed. A slender hand carefully pulled Akira’s cock out of his underwear. He spat on it, obscenely loud in the quietude of Akira’s bedroom.

His tail swished. Eyes half-lidded, Akechi wetted his top lip, then his bottom one. And took Akira in his mouth.

“Goro,” rasped Akira. Akechi closed his eyes, seemed to savour the taste of him; hummed around his girth as Akira gripped his hair, tugged on it lightly. His hips stuttered into Akira's futon. Akira rubbed the tips of his ears, watching mutely as Akechi’s hand dipped south and started roughly working his own dick. It was an efficient, practiced affair. He leaked pre-cum onto Akira’s sheets.

“Goro.” His name uttered reverently, like a hymn. Akechi pushed his mouth further in turn, up against the pubic hair dusting Akira’s groin. Akira could feel his cockhead pressing against the back of Akechi’s throat. He bucked into the motion without meaning to—Akechi’s face twitched, showing no other sign of having noticed. His cheeks were hollowed, his lips swollen. Akira felt it was unfair for Akechi to call him an idiot when he knew damn well what he looked like in the heat of things.

“Hey. Goro,” Akira whispered again, more urgently this time, “you don’t think this status ailment is Maruki’s doing, do you?”

Akechi moved his mouth off Akira. “No,” he said, after a moment. It appeared to Akira as if he, too, was having trouble concentrating; his words came out slow and muffled, like they were being dragged out of him. He licked a sluggish arc up the length of Akira’s cock. All of Akira’s muscles went taut. “You couldn't possibly dream this up. It was the Nekomata. Not a cognition.”

“Have you ever met me,” Akira asked shakily. “All I ever dream about is you.”

“I'll knock you out if you don't stop talking,” Akechi gritted out through sharpened teeth.

“Shut me up then.”

Akechi smirked up at him—cat-like, because of course—and mumbled something suspiciously similar to _I do so cherish your wit_. Akira smiled back. Akechi moved his head down to finish Akira off, but Akira cut him off by gently lifting him up under the armpits and depositing him back into his lap, eliciting a strangled mewling noise from Akechi.

Akira blinked.

“You surprised me,” Akechi hissed.

Akira kept his mouth shut. Akechi had swatted him before, as they’d left Mementos and found the feline characteristics still intact—he didn’t seem too keen on drawing attention to them. Even so: he was unbearably endearing like this, slinging one arm around Akira’s shoulders and nosing into his neck. He lapped hungry at Akira's skin like a lion at a watering hole.

They jerked each other off wordlessly. It was Akechi who came first, but he never liked to be kept waiting; as he came he sank his teeth into Akira’s throat, and Akira had no choice but to join him.

“You should bite me more often,” Akira wheezed, after. “I’m enjoying this uncharted territory.”

“Mm,” said Akechi, non-committal.

They laid there too boneless to move for a good few minutes. Akira wiped his hand off on Akechi. It earned him another nip to the arm. He was starting to think this suited Akechi: the fangs, and the claws, and the ease with which he used them to attack Akira. At least he was more readable like this, his thoughts and moods less closed off.

“So it was the Nekomata that transformed you?” he asked.

“I’m fairly certain Maruki wouldn't be capable,” Akechi yawned. They cleaned themselves up lazily, using wet wipes and throwing them wadded on the floor. “Unless he’s unconsciously fulfilling the wishes of Shadows now as well. It wouldn’t surprise me.”

“You think she was after a catboy-boyfriend?”

A snort. “I resent that term. In any case, I’m taken.” He rolled over. “We can confront Maruki about it tomorrow. If my affliction still persists.”

“You keep saying _affliction_ like it’s a disease. It’s a cute look on you.” Akira kissed his nose. “I wouldn’t mind if it stuck around for a bit.”

Akechi’s tail lashed—just once. Performative annoyance. They burrowed under the blankets together.

The sun set low on Maruki’s Palace by the time they arrived the following day. It was a Sunday, the evening before they had planned to retrieve Sumire from the depths of Odaiba’s cognitive psience centre. Joker and Crow staked out by the elevators.

Crow was feeling agitated. Joker could tell by the way his tail spasmed against the inside of his pyjama bottoms. His Metaverse outfit was roomy enough to accommodate it, but it was a strange sight nonetheless; Joker watched Crow’s right trouser leg twitch (the side of it suddenly, violently jutting out), settle, then twitch again.

“Let me,” he said, without elaborating. Crow stood still as Joker used his dagger to cut a thin slit in the fabric just above his ass. He reached in and threaded Crow’s tail through.

Crow twisted his spine, giving Joker’s handiwork an over-the-shoulder glance.

“This is _humiliating_ ,” he muttered. “What will your friends think of me?”

“Since when do you care?” Joker pointed out. “Besides, Panther and Fox have tails too. Won’t that give you something to bond over?”

Crow’s expression soured. “Pretend I never asked.” 

They fell quiet at the whir of an oncoming elevator. Maruki stepped out, completely unaware of the two boys glowering at him from the shadows. A press of a button by the entrance dimmed the lights inside.

“Maruki,” sneered Crow.

“Oh!” yelped Maruki, dropping his clipboard. He whirled around with an apologetic smile. “Good to see you again, Akechi. Akira. How nice of you to stop by! Unfortunately, I just finished locking up. Could this maybe wait until tomorrow…”

His sentence trailed off into the weakest of coughs. He’d noticed the signs of Crow’s status ailment. Crow noticed him noticing. This was a faux-pas. His tail puffed out to twice its size.

“Akechi,” said Maruki hesitantly, “are you feline— _feeling_ alright?”

“That’s actually what we’re here to talk about,” Joker piped up, before Crow got the chance to charge at him. “Ailments like these usually fade by the time we leave Mementos. As you can see, Akechi is still suffering from his. We were wondering if you knew why.”

“Ah,” Maruki said. “Hmm. Uh.”

They both leaned in expectantly.

“No idea,” came the bright and cheery answer.

Crow exploded. “Useless! Can’t we kill him just to be sure?”

“Settle down,” Joker said, placing a hand on the small of his back. Crow instantly caved, though he looked unhappy about it. Joker politely ignored the faint purr that escaped Crow’s clenched teeth and hoped Maruki would as well. “What Akechi means is that we figured this cat thing might’ve been wished upon him. If Shadows represent distorted human desires, then wouldn’t it be possible for them to influence _us_ in some way?”

“Shadows? I don’t know too much about those, so I can’t say for certain.” Maruki rubbed his chin. “There could be some truth to it…”

They stood like that for a moment, all of them in a circle. Crow panted heavily, teetering on the verge of a tantrum. Then Maruki heaved his head. His eyes glinted wildly as though he had just arrived at a magnificent conclusion, and Joker prayed to God he’d pass them on some favourable news.

Instead he said, “But what about _you_ , Akira? Aren’t _you_ fond of cats?”

“Yeah,” said Joker, blinkering. “I guess.”

“And aren’t you fond of Akechi?”

Joker turned, slowly. Crow’s intense vitriol had suddenly shifted towards him. The threat of an oncoming Megidolaon attack made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“I am.”

Crow growled.

“Isn’t it obvious?” continued Maruki, bending over to pick up his clipboard. He brushed the dirt off it and surveyed them with the blissful ignorance of a man who did not realize Crow was about to pummel Joker into the ground. “I couldn’t help but notice how selfless you were during your sessions. Always doing things for other people, never wanting anything for yourself. It seems my reality might have finally figured out something it can offer you.”

“No,” Joker near-whispered.

“That’s right. Akechi with cat features! I suppose you do take an interest in anime and the like—”

“ _You_ did this?!” Crow screeched, voice impossibly shrill. “ _You’re_ the cause! Joker, I’m going to tear you _limb from fucking limb!_ ”

His claws unsheathed into sharper ones. Joker assumed a defensive stance.

“Um. Well, see you tomorrow,” Maruki said, and hurried off to safer territory.

**Author's Note:**

> “did they find any water on mars yet. what about catboys” - dril, 2012


End file.
